Being a procrastinator with a violent fear of failure is almost hilarious because like 80% of the time I’m like “I’m not even going to think about this” and then there’s like a distinct moment when everything switches and it turns to “I can’t fail oh my god I need to turn this into an A in like a day why am I like this”
People Like Us
What does it say about me, what does it say about you, that we do the thing we do?
What does it mean that I need you in a secret way, a way we never tell another soul? That I love to feel your hand on the back of my neck, that I bend at your word, that I go to bed, just on your say so, that I bring you the paddle when you tell me to?
What does it do to me when you make me call you sir, when you turn me upside down and spank my bare cheeks, when you leave me red and sore and rubbing my bottom, and then I am so very much in love with you? Why do I struggle so hard against you when I know I will acquiesce? Why can’t I tell you that I want to?
Why am I disappointed when you sigh and shake your head and then go back to what you were doing, and I am left wondering why you stopped? And I wonder if I frustrate you too much, and if you don’t want to spank me ever again. And something feels anxious and small inside me and I don’t know where to go or what to do until I hear your voice calling me to your side.
And when you do spank me, lifting my nightgown, lowering my panties, making me feel like a little, little girl and terribly, terribly shy–and you do it so gleefully and evilly that all my doubts are gone?
Why do I so willingly shed my power, my pose, my poise and my panties, just because you walked in the door? Why do I need it, why do I want it, why do I want more?
Maybe it means I’m completely yours. You’re entirely mine. That the truth of us is different than the truth of us earlier, when we kept things hidden from each other, when I was afraid to let you be in charge.
Maybe it means nothing at all.
Maybe it is just a thing that is. Like the north wind meeting the bared trees in winter, or dry logs catching fire at the strike of a match. Maybe it is nature and combustion and maybe it is like any man and any woman who meet without constraints, or words, or don’ts, or shouldn’ts, or we dare nots.
Maybe it’s the slipping of a silk blouse off a woman’s shoulder and the man’s firm hand pulling her close to him and it’s the hardness of the man she feels when he does and it’s the softness of her that makes him bend his head to her neck and lift her hair and kiss below her ear while she drops her head back and moves her hands across his back and wants without words but he knows what she needs–
Maybe it’s just us.
And people like us.
And yet the guy in blue stripes is ready to fight with no fear in his eyes
There’s a reason it’s called a ‘fight or flight’ response (though it really should be fight/flight/freeze). It’s apparently very common for people in haunted houses to take swings at the workers.
Although, he should really take his thumb out of his fist unless he wants to break it.